


Nicely Wrapped Package

by bendingsignpost



Series: talk [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Normal Life, BDSM, BDSM Switch Castiel (Supernatural), Blow Jobs, Castiel is a Novak (Supernatural), Confident Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Wears Panties, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, M/M, Strip Tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:28:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26085706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bendingsignpost/pseuds/bendingsignpost
Summary: A few months into his relationship with Castiel, Dean finally receives an eagerly awaited package.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: talk [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1380490
Comments: 71
Kudos: 1030
Collections: The AO3 SPN Kink Meme





	Nicely Wrapped Package

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [theao3spnkinkmeme](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/theao3spnkinkmeme) collection. 



> Saw this prompt on the AO3 SPN Kink meme and immediately called dibs. To see the prompt, see end notes. **Mods, please de-anon this fill!** Not that it won't be a bit obvious, seeing as I'm adding it to an established series. 
> 
> (Don't worry, newcomers, it works as a standalone too!)

Dean grabs his mail, takes the stairs up to his apartment two at a time, and locks the door behind him. He checks it, double checks it, and forces himself to stop.

This isn’t anxiety.

This is anticipation.

Part of him twitches away from the simple idea of anyone having seen the nondescript package. Even though it’s the regular soft bag, lined with bubble wrap, that could contain any garment. Again, he catches himself, because Cas has been talking him through this for a reason.

This isn’t about feeling ashamed.

This is about feeling _naughty._

Putting the bills and the grocery store newsletter to the side, Dean positions the package just right. He moves so he isn’t blocking is own light, and he takes a picture. He texts that to Cas and waits, chewing on his lip.

Despite the buzz of Dean’s nerves and the urgency racing through his veins, Cas takes his time responding. Dean paces around his apartment, storing away the few dishes on the drying rack, tearing open those bills.

Finally, unable to take more than ten minutes of this agony, he double checks the date with his knowledge of Cas’ schedule. Cas isn’t working right now. Maybe having takeout right now, or taking the bus home right now, but by all rights, Cas should be able to respond.

Dean calls him.

He counts out five rings before Cas finally, finally picks up.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, the words rushed. “Is this pressing? I’m having dinner with my parents.”

“Check your texts.”

There is a pause.

Slightly muffled, Dean hears Cas say, “I need to take this outside for a minute.” Other people respond.

There is a longer pause.

At last, Cas asks him, “How many did you order?”

“Three,” Dean says. “Can I… Is it okay if I open them without you?”

So clearly, Dean can picture the way Cas considers this: eyes narrowed, head tilted. “Open the package. Look at them. But do not put them on until I call you.”

“Okay,” Dean answers, breathless.

“What was that?” Castiel asks.

“I mean, yes, Castiel.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m gonna open the package and look at them, but not put them on.”

“Until?”

“Until you call and tell me to,” Dean finishes, unable to keep from adjusting himself in his jeans. That one touch turns into a hard press.

Quietly, the two words hushed in volume but saturated in meaning: “Good. Boy.”

“What if I… Can I jerk off? Before you call.” This wasn’t part of the scene, but fuck, Dean needs to add it in, _now_.

“Ask me properly,” Castiel instructs.

“Right, sorry, I’m just.” Vibrating. Stiffly, hand stuck to his own crotch, Dean kneels down for his own benefit, right on the linoleum. If he doesn’t sit back on his heels, the package on the kitchenette counter is perfectly at eye level.

“You’re excited,” Castiel replies, halfway to a question.

“God, yeah.”

“Ask me properly,” Castiel repeats.

“Can I please jerk off, Castiel?” Dean asks, face flushed, nerves singing.

“To what? What are you going to be looking at?”

“At...” Fuck. “At the...”

“At _your,_ ” Castiel corrects.

“Please, Castiel, can I jerk off to my panties?” Dean asks in a heady rush. “Please.”

“To them,” Castiel allows. “Not on or in. I want to see them clean.”

“Yes, Castiel,” Dean promises. “I will. I mean, I won’t. I’m-” Fuck, his dick is harder in his jeans than the linoleum is on his knees.

“Tell me what you are.”

“I’m your good boy.”

“That’s right,” Castiel agrees. “I need to calm down and go back to dinner now. Please don’t send pictures.”

“I can pick you up? After? Pretend I’m a Lyft or something and drive you back to yours?”

“You know I have work in the morning.” Castiel’s tone undercuts the implied refusal.

“I can drive you in the morning too.”

A tortured pause, and then a sigh. “...You’re right. I’d be distracted anyway. Pick me up at eight thirty. I’ll text you my parents’ address. Under no circumstances get out of the car. If they know it’s you, they’ll want you to come in.”

“Yeah, not happening tonight,” Dean says, licking his lips, staring at the package. “Should I… I mean…”

Another tortured pause. “...Wear one. Bring them all.”

Dean can’t help his groan of relief. “Thank you, Castiel.”

“I need to hang up now and have a very awkward dinner.”

“Okay,” Dean says, a tiny laugh shaking his voice. “I mean, yes, yes, Castiel.”

Castiel hangs up, but almost immediately sends a text:

_Good boy._

Pressing his lips to the edge of his phone, pressing his hand over his dick, Dean breathes hard. Dizzy and light, he wobbles his way back to standing before secreting the package into his bedroom. And then immediately coming back out for scissors.

Set atop his bed, the package waits for his return.

Thrumming with more energy than his dick can contain, excitement bubbling through his arms and hands and fizzling through his head, Dean slices through the package’s deal. He pulls out the three individually wrapped panties and delicately cuts the plastic baggy around each.

He lays them out:

The pink flouncy pair, with thick white ruffles padding the sides and a bow adorning the crotch.

The mesh backed pair, deep red and intentionally tight in the front.

The tiny pair, black lace over black silk, fully crossing the line from underwear and into male lingerie.

Eyes on them, Dean strips. Grabbing a pillow for the floor, he kneels in front of his bed, both of his hands stroking: the left on his dick, the right on the panties themselves.

They feel so good under his hand, against his cheek. A lifetime of mass-produced cotton blends, and now he has silk and satin, a world of indulgence just for his dick. Fuck, but he’s going to wear these.

Whatever else he has going on in his life, Dean’s an attractive man, knows he is. He’s gonna look like those models on the website, men posed this way and that, panties hugging their ass and balls and dick. He’s gonna put these on and watch Cas squirm, gonna watch Cas’ mouth go slack and his dick get hard.

Mesh backed pair for the morning, he decides, stroking fast. Make Cas breakfast in the kitchen, apron and these and nothing else. He’s gonna tease Cas so hard, Cas won’t have any other choice than to spank Dean’s ass as red as the fabric.

Dean gets himself close. Eases himself back. Wipes his hand on his discarded boxer briefs before straightening out the panties once more. Keeps leaking precome on his abandoned t-shirt. Sticks his fingers in his mouth, because imagining a dick in these makes him need to suck one.

Even as he’s fantasizing about the panties in front of him, he can’t help but think: what are the next pairs he should get? The ones that unzip in the back, so Castiel can fuck him open while he wears them? The unicorn ones that make Dean laugh but Castiel stand at attention, a scrap of satin hugging his balls while his dick hangs free?

Ones with toys, ones with gear. Shorts meant to hold in anal plugs, tiny skimpy things with a cock ring included? A remote control vibrator, snuggled up beneath his balls?

Dean comes and comes, and loves coming. Breath catching, he rides it out until he’s sensitive, too sensitive, but he keeps rubbing himself in the milking spot anyway until his hand and crotch twitch away from each other. A cursory clean up with his t-shirt, but even then, he circles his hole with one hand.

The past few months of frantic experience have taught him that his prostate needs at least ten minutes between orgasm and fucking, but Castiel has spoiled him. Orgasm means Castiel playing with him, toying him open. Orgasm is no longer the end of sex, barely the middle of it, and Dean should get an anal plug next, instead of more panties. He should stick that up his ass, cover it up with one of these silky bastards, and make Cas only look, not touch.

Cas Doms _and_ subs, after all. For what might be the first time, Dean’s mouth waters at the idea of switching those roles. It’s been so good to finally relax and let Castiel take charge, but tonight, there’s too much energy, too much excitement to relax.

He could make Cas sit there and watch. Make him stare at the flouncy layers or the silken stretch. Maybe the lacy pair is exactly too small, maybe Dean will be falling out of it with every step, oh dear, and Cas will have to stay put, hands to himself, as Dean adjusts the scrap of fabric time and time again.

Dean daydreams. He drifts. He comes back to himself, knees aching, back complaining, idly playing with his hole while leaning half on his bed, still looking at the panties.

With a groan and a shiver, he gets up. He checks the panties, confirms that they’re still clean, and prevents himself from texting Castiel confirmation that Dean’s been good. No distracting Castiel.

Dean does check his phone, though. Checks the time, the address, and predicted driving time.

It’s not time to wear them yet.

Dean should… Dean should prep.

He holds them against himself, the flouncy pair first. He regards the lines and his own hair, and while he may not be a manscaper, he does consider some trimming. Nothing down to the skin, nothing to turn tonight into an itchy mess, but enough to get things under wraps, enough to blend in a little more with his leg hair.

He showers accordingly, then cleans out the shower drain accordingly. He inspects himself more closely than he usually does, crotch and dick and all the rest. He leans close to the bathroom mirror before deciding to shave his face and style his hair.

Somewhere through all this preening, his stomach reminds him that dinner never happened. An eye on the clock, he eats lightly enough that sex shouldn’t make him feel bloated. After, he rattles around the apartment, absolutely ignoring all of his other responsibilities in favor of pairing shirts to the panties.

Black button down with the deep red, obviously. Matching anything to the black lace proves more difficult, with the black shirt already claimed, but an unbuttoned white shirt is a potential contender.

As for the flouncy ones… nothing looks right. Maybe if he had a soft, cozy sweater instead of all his Henleys, that might work. His wardrobe isn’t exactly full of soft pink and white frills. And it’s not like he _needs_ to go clothes shopping in the spare half hour he has before going to pick up Cas, but…

Dean has an idea.

With a YouTube tutorial, it’s even possible.

Then, it’s time to get packed and dressed.

“Ah, fuck,” Dean sighs, just at pulling them up his thighs. So soft. So smooth. He closes his eyes, tucking himself into the cloth, cool and sleek and cradling. He runs his hands down over the layers covering his hips, flounces them up and flounces them down.

The dumbest grin takes over his face as he pets those layers. His ass, he knows is in good condition; Cas has repeatedly sworn to as much. But his _hips_ , he’s never paid attention to. Sure, he’s noted some love handles from pie loving him back, but that’s not the same as curves. Except, now it is. Even the bulge of his stomach—small enough Dean knows he’s only being paranoid and vain about it—even that feels intentional with these on.

He walks around in a slow circle, mouth falling open as the cloth shifts against him, as he shifts against it. It’s so fucking good. It’s _so_ fucking good.

Putting his jeans back on is borderline sacrilegious. A band t-shirt and his leather jacket make it at once worse and better, if Dean thinks of them as subterfuge.

And god, every step feels like subterfuge.

Vibrating just as much as he had when entering, he exits his apartment above the garage, jogs down the stairs, and slides into his car. Patting the dashboard, Dean murmurs to the car as her engine purrs, “I’m just like you, Baby.” Fucking awesome on the outside, classy as shit on the inside.

Dean drives, every movement of his foot on the pedals shifting his leg, shifting his ass cheek. He plays his music and he grins his face off, and he goes to pick up his boyfriend. The music stays on high until his phone’s GPS tells him he’s close. Then he goes stealth mode, parking politely out front and turning the lights off.

He texts Cas.

A minute of anticipation later, porch lights illuminate the brown siding of this particular slice of suburbia. The door opens, and there’s Cas, hugging a pair of people Dean’s eventually going to have to meet. Not tonight, though, hell no.

Dean turns on the car lights and Cas heads out to him, his grin clear despite his shadowy, backlit face.

“Hey,” Dean says.

“Hello,” Cas answers, sliding in and closing the door firmly behind him. His eyes remain only briefly on Dean’s face. They linger much lower. “Are you…”

“Yeah,” Dean says.

Cas shifts closer on the bench seat. “Which ones?”

More than ready, Dean stops Cas with a hand high on his thigh. He grins in the face of Cas’ surprise. “I’m in charge tonight.”

“You are?” Cas asks, squinting in confusion.

“Yeah,” Dean says, and he means it.

He _feels_ it.

“You are,” Cas agrees, his deep rumble crashing lower.

In a slow drag, Dean slides his fingers between Cas’s thighs.

Eyes wide, mouth parted, Castiel shifts to make room.

“I mean, if that’s okay with you,” Dean adds, squeezing thick muscle. The heat pressing at the side of his hand hints at the answer.

“I had...” Castiel swallows, looking absolutely parched. “My plans can wait. I’m sure yours are…”

“Oh, I’ve got plans.”

“Tell me?”

Dean looks at him. Shifts the angle of his hand.

“Please,” Castiel adds. “Dean.”

“I’m gonna give you a little fashion show,” Dean tells him. “If you’re good, you get to pick which pair I’ll be in when you blow me after.”

Castiel nods.

“That okay?” Dean checks.

Another nod. “I want to blow you in your panties,” Castiel says, because _fuck,_ the guy can just _say_ these things. “Very much.”

“Awesome,” Dean agrees, face on fire. “You, uh. GPS.”

“Right,” Castiel says, fumbling for it.

“Good boy,” Dean says, and for all it feels strange on his lips, it must land wonderfully on Castiel’s ears.

Castiel kisses him. Thoroughly. Desperately. With the kind of abandon a guy doesn’t normally see directly outside of his partner’s parents’ house, past the teenage years.

“I’m going to buy you so much lingerie,” Castiel promises. Threatens. Realizes.

“Oh no,” Dean deadpans, and forces himself to put his car in gear.

The rest of the ride back to familiar territory, Dean keeps his right hand on Castiel’s thigh. Lightly strokes Castiel’s trapped dick. As Castiel turns stiff and silent, Dean checks more than once:

“Should I stop?”

And Castiel, breathless:

“More.”

In a daredevil feat of amazing driving, Dean gets them all the way to Castiel’s parking spot without dying. He kills the lights and the engine, and Castiel makes a needy noise of protest as Dean releases him to do so.

“C’mon,” Dean urges.

“I can’t get out of the car like this,” Castiel insists, his cheeks flushed so dark in the shadows of the lot.

“You’re gonna carry my bag.” Dean grabs it out of the backseat. “All the way up those stairs.”

“They’re in here?” Castiel asks, regarding the backpack with blatant interest.

“Yup. And you get to hold ‘em right up against your dick.”

Castiel sucks in a hard breath. Exhales slow through his nose. Risks a look at Dean. “I love you like this.”

Dean’s heart stops.

Visibly dizzy, Castiel adds, “As a sub, too, but this is… Confidence is a _very_ good look on you.”

Dean swallows, hard, swallows down an L word that’s coming way too soon, has to be too soon. “You naming my panties already?” he jokes instead, and it takes Castiel a minute to roll his eyes.

Somehow, they get out of the car, up several flights of stairs, and all the way into Castiel’s apartment without seeing anyone else. Castiel opens and closes the door for Dean, standing at attention. Dean takes his bag back.

“Go sit on your bed,” Dean decides. “And, hold on.” He pulls up his sexy times playlist on his phone. Hands that over. “I’ll be right in.”

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel answers, nodding seriously. “Do you want me clothed, or…”

Dean looks him over. White shirt and twisted tie, the dress pants and all.

“Keep the tie, the undershirt, and whatever underwear situation you got going.”

Castiel nods along, eyes at once hazy and focused.

“You like the sound of that?” Dean checks.

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel says, and Dean kisses him. When they separate, Castiel is close to Dean’s dress code. Castiel gathers up the discarded items, wobbling as he bends down, so Dean takes the path of least resistance and grabs him by the ass.

Castiel presses back into Dean’s hands. Maneuvers himself upright.

They distract themselves kissing for what might be a very long time.

“Bedroom,” Dean orders, the command only somewhat undercut by having Castiel pinned against the kitchenette island.

This time, Castiel makes it.

Body singing in tune to the music now coming from Castiel’s room, Dean readies himself in the bathroom. His finishing touch feels silly, now that he comes to it, but Castiel’s larger bathroom allows Dean the extra few steps back from the mirror, enough room to see more of himself.

And Dean looks _good_.

Strike that.

_Amazing_.

And judging by Castiel’s face when Dean peacocks into his room, Castiel thinks the exact same thing.

Castiel sits up.

Sits forward.

Reaches, unthinkingly.

“Ah-ah,” Dean hears himself say, intercepting Castiel’s hands. “Whoa there, big guy.”

“Please?” Castiel asks, eyes very much locked on soft pink and frilly white.

“When I say.” He squeezes Castiel’s hands before releasing them, before tapping Castiel beneath the chin.

Castiel looks up accordingly, blinking, refocusing on Dean’s makeshift embellishment. He looks Dean up and down. He licks his lips, swallows, and licks again. His breathing goes ragged, somehow louder than the music.

“You like my bow tie?” Dean asks, touching the ribbon around his neck. It’s wide and white, salvaged from a well-wrapped Christmas present a couple months ago. And it very nearly matches the tiny bow on the front of Dean’s panties.

“Yes,” Castiel rasps, so sincere in his lust.

“Pull here,” Dean says, leaning over him, showing him.

Castiel draws the ribbon from its knot. From its loop around Dean’s neck. He clenches it in his hand as Dean leans back and pets the ruffled sides of the panties.

Dean turns around slowly, making himself laugh at the absurdity of this little strip tease, but Castiel, he ain’t laughing. As Dean grins, Castiel stares up at him in awe.

“Don’t you want to touch the sides?” Dean asks.

“Please,” Castiel says.

“You wanna suck me off in these?”

“Yes.”

“You wanna see the other two?”

Castiel screws up his face. Nods. Strangles the shit out of the ribbon in the effort not to touch himself. Dean hasn’t even told him not to.

“Tell you what,” Dean decides, skimming his fingers over the waistband. Sneaking his thumb beneath it. “We get through all of them without you touching your dick, you can come on a pair, too.”

A desperate noise writhes its way out of Castiel’s throat.

“You’d like that, huh.”

Castiel nods rapidly. “Yes, Dean. Please, Dean.”

“Then don’t touch your dick.”

“Even when I blow you?” Castiel asks, his voice half hope, half dread, all rasping want.

“Oh yeah,” Dean says, taking to that idea immediately. “You blow me, you keep your hands on _my_ goods, you hear me?”

Castiel shivers. Swallows. “Yes, Dean.”

“Good boy,” Dean says, and Castiel shivers again. Shivers differently. “C’mon, touch the sides. Feel this.”

In jerky motions, with hot, sweaty palms, Castiel pets Dean’s hips. “They’re very nice.”

“Only nice?”

“Beautiful,” Castiel corrects, eyes locked on the tiny bow in the middle, off-center now with Dean’s hardening cock.

“You talking to my dick or my panties, baby?”

“Both.”

“Good answer. If I change into the next, you gonna touch yourself while I’m gone?”

Castiel shakes his head. Grabs the ribbon off the bed and loops it around his own wrists. “No.”

Dean laughs. “Dude, you tying them over your crotch? Maybe not the best move.”

“What? Oh.” Lust addled, Castiel fumbles before ultimately folding his hands behind his back.

“Perfect,” Dean says, and kisses him wet and deep. Castiel opens to him instantly, expectantly. He sucks on Dean’s tongue and toys with it with his own. Dean strokes Castiel’s tense shoulders through his undershirt, humming in approval each time Castiel readjusts his restraining grip on himself.

“Don’t move,” Dean orders, drawing back, and Castiel’s eyes, his posture, his breathing, is all compliance.

Dean walks out with swagger.

He changes quickly, grits his teeth at the unexpected itch of the unwashed mesh, and slings the black button down on. The hem hangs down low, concealing the mesh.

Dean returns with a grin and a proud bulge. He moves slowly with his own arousal, deliberately with it, and the panties—more like shorts—embrace his hard on as much as they cradle his balls.

“What d’you think?” Dean asks.

“They’re very tight,” Castiel answers in what is far from a complaint.

“They breathe, though. Really well.”

Clearly hearing without listening, Castiel nods along, looking his fill as Dean shifts his weight.

“You know what I like about these?” Dean asks.

“Smooth?” Castiel asks, his imagination plain on his face.

“Yeah, some of that. But mostly...”

Dean turns around. Looks over his shoulder. And slowly draws up the back of his shirt.

“ _Oh,_ ” Castiel breathes.

“Yeah, these are the punishment panties,” Dean confirms. “You gonna spank me this red, sweetheart?” He snaps the waistband against his hip.

Castiel’s eyes dart from Dean’s ass to his face. “I… Do you want to? Tonight?”

Dean pretends to consider it, and Castiel is so far gone, he even believes it.

“Not tonight,” Dean makes a show of deciding. “Tonight would be your night.”

“I don’t like being spanked,” Castiel reminds him. “I like...” He touches his cheek.

“You want me to smack my dick against your face, you shave first,” Dean tells him. “Unless you’re asking for me and my panties to sit on your face.”

“The other pair,” Castiel says, a little nonsensically. “The leg holes are closer, those, I could. Teabag?”

Now that, Dean does consider. “You picking the pink ones already? Before you even see them all?”

Castiel shakes his head. “I can wait.”

“Can you?” Dean leans in, leans down. Straightens Castiel’s tie.

“You’re incredible,” Castiel says, staring at him. Into him. “Dean, you are…”

The part of Dean that flushes and squirms, that part gets drowned out by the confirmation of reality itself. Good person, bad person; that isn’t tonight’s debate. Tonight, the question is _hot_ person, and the answer is very much _Dean._

“You bet I am,” Dean replies. “You wanna feel the mesh over my ass?”

Castiel nods but does not reach.

Dean stands close, his legs framing Castiel’s knees. He takes Castiel’s hand for him. Brings that touch around to grab his ass, to grab it hard. Again, the mesh itches in that faint, new clothes way, but with Castiel staring up at him, the itch bothers far less.

“You want more?”

“Please.”

“More touching, or more panties?”

“Whatever you want, Dean.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, Dean.”

This time when Dean goes in to kiss him, he pulls back on Castiel’s hair, the same firm, slow draw Castiel uses so well on him. Careful on the neck, but absolutely controlling. And Dean kisses that throat. Bites that neck. Hums indulgent corrections when Castiel errs on the side of handsy.

“Dean,” Castiel interrupts.

“Need a breather?” Dean checks. He should probably check that more.

Castiel shakes his head. “Faster. I have work in the morning.”

“Ah shit. Right.” Dean grabs his phone to check the hour, just like old times. “Okay, I’ll switch out, you pick, and then we knock you out via orgasm. Yeah?”

“Please,” Castiel agrees.

“Back in a minute.” Dean pecks him on the mouth. “And no touching yourself.”

Walking out without a shirt on, ass on full display, might make that order more difficult, but that’s half the fun.

The last pair, Dean can barely get into. He’d known that would be a danger with these, and that was before he’d gotten hard. The lace edging serves as a warning system, providing a faint itch as his dick and balls slide out from under black silk.

Playing up the tenuousness of this arrangement, Dean walks back in.

“These,” Castiel instantly says, eyes wide, voice wrecked.

As if on cue, the head of Dean’s dick peeks out the top. One of his balls makes an attempt down the corresponding leg hole.

And still Castiel stares at him as if made for that sole task.

“Yeah?” Each pair of panties has demanded its own form of movement, and these do most of all.

“Please,” Castiel begs.

“Please what?” Dean asks, riding high, drawing closer.

“Please let me suck you, Dean.”

Dean sits down on the bed. Draws his legs up. For an instant, the contrast of his leg hair and the panties jars his mood, but Castiel’s hands worship from ankle to knee, stroking hair and skin and muscle as he waits for Dean’s permission.

“On your knees?” Dean asks. “Or on the bed.”

“Bed. Please.”

Nodding, Dean takes his time. Arranges the pillows and gets himself comfortable against the headboard, reclined just right.

Faux-casual, exactly as nonchalant as he doesn’t feel, Dean stretches out one leg and draws up the other. As he plants his bare foot against the bed, his junk entirely falls out of the panties.

“Dean.” Eyes lust dark. Face flushed as deep as Castiel wants to take him.

Dean shrugs out of his unbuttoned, white shirt. In doing so, he pulls out the condom from the breast pocket.

Slowly.

Achingly.

Dean tears the packet open.

He carefully inspects which way to roll it on.

With exaggerated precision, Dean pinches the tip.

He rolls it down.

And down.

And down.

Grinning, Dean waves Castiel forward, and Castiel is on him in an instant.

Not on Dean in the fucking way, the heavy weight of Castiel’s entire body pounding against him.

Not on Dean in the holding way, the determined press of two chests refusing to separate.

Castiel is on him, yet not. Not Castiel’s hips, but his torso steadfast between Dean’s legs. His hands squeezing, caressing, not back or shoulders, but Dean’s hips and calves and thighs.

Castiel nuzzles strategically close, maneuvering his lips past the flimsy barrier of lace. He sucks and tugs and praises. He tucks Dean away just to draw him out once more, just to make Dean fall out twice more, just to see the disheveled mess that comes from hooking Dean’s leg over his shoulder.

“That’s it, _that’s_ it,” Dean pants, clenching his ass as Castiel squeezes each cheek in turn. As Castiel hollows his mouth and shows Dean exactly how much room there is for thrusting. Shallow and fast, Dean practically vibrates in place. Still Castiel hums. Still Castiel kisses him hard and tight.

At all times, Castiel’s hands remain fixed to Dean’s body. He plays with the panties. He strokes them, experiences them, revels in them maybe as much as Dean does. He touches and touches, nonstop, but at the same time:

“You fucking the bed, sweetheart?” Dean checks, Dean teases. He takes a light smack at Castiel’s shoulder, and Castiel groans and groans and _groans_ around him. “Ah, shit, you, you don’t wanna jizz on my panties? No reward for you?”

Breathing hard, Castiel pulls off and rises up, Dean’s leg falling from his shoulder. “ _Dean_ ,” he says, urgent, close to a command, and Dean, fuck, he gets it.

“C’mere, c’mere,” Dean urges. They grab at each other. Pull together, push Castiel’s boxer briefs down. Castiel’s dick against his, only panties and a condom between, and fuck, _fuck,_ maybe soon they’ll make that leap. All skin and only skin, and Dean comes hard as layers of fantasies condense into the tight reality of what they’ve already made possible.

He groans against Castiel’s lips, against the dual tastes of latex and desperation.

Castiel squeezes him hard, a frantic, full-bodied hug, before rising up on one arm, before jerking it and jerking it as Dean fills up the condom.

Panting, Castiel looks down at it—at Dean, at them together—as if sight more than sensation puts him over. Grunting, Castiel fumbles even as he pushes himself up over Dean, and Dean startles at the first hit of come against his hand, his stomach, his upper thighs. Castiel keeps trying to open his eyes throughout, stroking and jizzing and still trying to see what he’s made of Dean, of both of them.

It’s a mess.

An absolute mess.

And it’s so fucking hot.

Finally, his tie a lose tangle, his undershirt sweat-drenched, his boxer briefs around his knees, Castiel collapses down next to him, still staring.

“Shirt,” Dean says, pulling at it.

Groaning, Castiel drags himself out of his undershirt. Dean takes it and starts to mop himself up, only for Castiel to bat his hands away and take over. Castiel’s jizz cleaned off, _then_ the condom off. The panties come off after, and they need a good handwash in the sink.

Later.

Again, they collapse down next to each other. Cas tugs his boxer briefs back up in an awkward, flopping shuffle only slightly less involved than kicking them off entirely. They adjust around, eventually settling with Dean on his back, Castiel against his side, head on Dean’s chest.

“You like that?” Dean asks, stroking the less sweaty side of Cas’ hair.

Cas hums and nuzzles closer. His arm across Dean’s chest draws tight, and he throws his leg over Dean’s. He mumbles something that might be “You’re amazing.”

“Cas?”

“Mm.”

“I know what you should spank me for. Later. In the punishment panties.”

“Hm?”

“Yeah.” Dean rubs at Cas’ shoulder, and there’s no way Cas can’t feel Dean’s heart pounding beneath his arm. “I’m thinking, one hit for every day I forget to get tested. I mean. I was thinking we could, y’know. Get to that stage?”

Slowly, Cas props himself up just enough to look Dean in the eyes. “I can do that.”

“Yeah?”

Very seriously, Cas nods. “I want to taste you,” he says, as if that’s a thing people say to each other after sex is over.

“I, uh.” Dean bites his lip. Looks at Cas.

Remembers the sheer confidence that silk and satin brought him.

“I want you to come on me,” Dean says, because that’s a thing he can say. A thing he _should_ say. “Like, _on_ me, on me.”

With a delicate smile, and an even more delicate touch, Cas asks him, “Here?”

Wordlessly, Dean nods.

“And… here?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Maybe not the backdoor, but… That much, yeah.”

“I’d like that,” Cas says. “The fewer layers between us, the better.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Cas says. “Your panties excluded, of course.” He lays his head back down on Dean’s shoulder, kissing Dean’s clavicle en route.

Beside him, beneath him, Dean lies there, chest light, muscles loose, and he smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> " **Prompt:**
> 
> Established Relationship
> 
> Dean's feeling very confident and sexy in his new panties. Cas is very aesthetically pleased-- both because of Dean in panties and Dean being confident. Whether any sex happens is up to you, but the focus is on Dean feeling confident and Cas being appreciative non-sexually.
> 
> Bonus Points: reflections on Dean's relationship with his body
> 
> Do Not Want: body negativity, other characters"
> 
> As always, to see what else I'm working on, you can follow me on [tumblr here](http://bendingsignpost.tumblr.com/).


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